


It's too late

by mapofthestars



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Feud, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapofthestars/pseuds/mapofthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>In fair Verona, one couple’s death has taken all the glory. But fate dealt a harsh hand to the two families, Capulet and Montague. Before Romeo and Juliet, another pair of star crossed lovers lost their lives, and this is their story.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's too late

**Author's Note:**

> A good friend of mine posed this idea to me last summer. I never really did anything about it, until now, when I thought it would make a cute present for her.
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! :D
> 
> The title is from Never Be, by 5 Seconds of Summer.
> 
> Disclaimer : Shakespeare owns everything to do with these characters.

In fair Verona, one couple’s death has taken all the glory. But fate dealt a harsh hand to the two families, Capulet and Montague. Before Romeo and Juliet, another pair of star crossed lovers lost their lives, and this is their story.

Tybalt strode into the courtyard, and immediately noticed the brawling servants. He was angry, tense, and his hand flew to his sword. The Montague, Benvolio, was trying to part the fighters, valiantly calling for order. 

But Tybalt was in no mood to make peace between the warring families. He rushed into the fight, hot headed and fiery. He raised his sword towards Benvolio, pressing his way through the mass of fighting servants.

Mercutio had not come to him last night, as he had promised, and Tybalt blamed the Montagues for stopping him. He let his anger course through him and direct itself at Benvolio. He had no wish to kill the younger man, for the loss of a good friend would hurt Mercutio too dearly, but Tybalt’s blood thrummed with the pull to fight.

He pushed Benvolio back with hard blows, the younger man staggering under the onslaught. Luckily, Tybalt was prevented from going too far and altering the course of fate by the arrival of the prince. Who knows what might have been prevented had the prince arrived only a second later, but all the residents of fair Verona were caught in fate’s web, and they could not escape their destinies.

Tybalt fled the horses hooves, seeking shelter in the alley’s as he wove his way through the town to the house of Old Capulet. His cousin, Juliet, was meekly waiting for her parents in the entrance to the house. She didn’t try to approach Tybalt, the fury clear on his face.

Tybalt retreated to the comfort of his room. He grabbed the closest thing to him and threw it with a shout, feeling a sense of satisfaction as it bounced of the wall and rolled across the floor. He heard the great doors open and close, and the murmur of voices that signalled the arrival of Lord and Lady Capulet. Tybalt could not be bothered to go downstairs and be greeted by a reproachful uncle, who no doubt would chastise him for taking part in the brawl.

Tybalt hear the soft footfalls make their way towards his room. Too light to be Lord Capulet, too unsure to be Lady Capulet, it could only be his cousin Juliet. He threw himself down on his bed, unwilling to look his young cousin in the eye. She hated fighting and violence, soft and innocent that she was.

He heard the door creak open slowly., but he didn’t raise his eyes towards his cousin. 

“Father told me to remind you of the celebrations this evening.”

Tybalt groaned, having forgotten all about the celebrations in the anger of Mercutio’s absense and the thrill of the fight.

“Fetch me the servant who is delivering the invitations.” Tybalt heard her anxious feet scurry away. He knew he shouldn’t order his cousin about as though she were a servant, but she was so willing, it was just so easy.

The door creaked open for a second time.

“Master?” asked the servant, head bowed respectfully. Tybalt pushed himself to his feet.

“Is Mercutio on the list of those invited tonight?”

“No Master.”

“Add him.” And with that, Tybalt strode from the room, leaving no room for the servant to question the order. It would be no coincidence that the servant would ask Mercutio to read the invitation, but fate would ensure he was not the only one to hear it.

Tybalt paced the corridors, watching the servants scurry around, preparing for the feast. Soon he met Lord Capulet, who dragged him into an alcove.

“You have a fiery temper, boy, but now you must curb it.” warned Old Capulet. “The Prince has promised to take my head, should any more fighting break out. Do you understand me?”

Tybalt nodded sullenly and turned to leave. But he was stopped by his Uncle’s hand resting heavy on his shoulder.

“No Tybalt, too much lies in the balance here. Do you understand me?”

“Yes Uncle, Tybalt replied, before pulling his shoulder from the older man’s hand.

Tybalt had mixed feelings about the feud. For every drop of his blood that hated the Montagues, there was another drop that loved Mercutio. His blood burnt, equal parts raging anger and simmering love.

No one tried to talk to Tybalt as he stalked the halls in the hours leading up to the celebrations. The shadows grew longer, and then took over as the sun set. The main hall blazed bright from the light of the torches, but the corridors where Tybalt roamed were dark.

He could begin to hear the mindless chatter of his uncle’s guests streaming into the ballroom. Tybalt weaved his way through servants carrying endless trays of food and drink to the guests, until he found himself alone on a dark balcony overlooking the ballroom.

Tybalt watched as lords and ladies streamed in. Names and faces swirled together in his mind, but none of them inspired him enough to actually move. He was waiting for one specific person.

The ball was in full swing. Tybalt watched as Paris danced with his young cousin, whilst Lady Capulet watched on happily. Tybalt thanked God that no one had tried to marry him or Mercutio off yet. Luckily the reputations they had created for themselves kept potential brides away. Tybalt Capulet was seen as angry, moody, and too volatile for anyone to wish him to be part of their family. Mercutio was …. eccentric. Tybalt loved each of his eccentricities, but prospective brides tended to prefer the company of Benvolio, or, Tybalt could barely think his name without feeling anger, Romeo Montague.

Tybalt tried to clear his head. Mercutio would arrive soon. There was no need to make himself unnecessarily angry. Tybalt spotted a flash of colour by the entrance of the grand hall. He stood, peering over the stone of the balcony. Yes, that was Mercutio. Tybalt allowed a rare smile at the man’s bold dress, even amongst a party full of colours.

Tybalt turned to leave the balcony, but stopped short. It wouldn’t hurt to spend a few minutes just watching Mercutio wreak havoc amongst the guests. Tybalt smiled again as he turned back to the party happening below him.

His eyes searched for Mercutio, who had already danced his way in from the entrance of the grand hall and was the centre of a small crowd. But Tybalt was focussed on the smaller group of figures that didn’t seem entranced by Mercutio.

Tybalt moved along the balcony, trying to catch sight of the guests in the shadows. HIs interest was piqued, but it didn’t really matter to him. Again, Tybalt was about to turn and leave, when one of the guests in the shadows darted out to try and grab Mercutio, but was stopped by the twirling dancers around him.

Tybalt leane back over the balcony, watching intently to see if this mysterious stranger would try and grab Mercutio again. The figure reappeared again. As it moved carefully through the dancers, Tybalt could tell it was a man. He waited, willing the man to look up or around the room, anything that would allow Tybalt to get a glimpse of his face.

Tybalt’s prayers were answered. Just as the figure grabbed hold of Mercutio’s hand, his eyes darted anxiously around the darkened roof. Tybalt frowned. The man was just a boy. The boy leaned close to whisper to Mercutio, who just laughed at whatever had been said. Tybalt’s hands clenched around the balcony. The boy looked around one last time, and Tybalt reeled in shock. Romeo and the Montagues had dared to show their faces there.

As Tybalt strode from the balcony, his brain was warring within himself. Mercutio wouldn’t want him to harm the Montagues, but Tybalt couldn’t not react to the insult that had just been thrown at his family. He picked his rapier up from his rooms as he wove his way down the back stairs and around the hall to the door near which he had last seen the Montagues.

Tybalt was just about to enter the Grand Hall, when Lord Capulet appeared in front of him.

“What are you doing Tybalt?” Lord Capulet asked suspiciously. Tybalt only stared sullenly at his uncle. “And heavens, why do you have a sword child?”

Tybalt bristled. He uncle knew he hated being referred to as a child. “The Montagues are here tonight uncle. I will not let them insult us like this.”   
  


“You will not do anything.” Lord Capulet replied angrily. “My head rests upon your actions, and I rather like having it attached to my shoulders.”

“Uncle, you cannot let Romeo mock us like this.” Tybalt almost pleaded.

“I can, I will, and you will abide by my decision.” Tybalt stared at his uncle. It was as though his uncle  wanted the feud to be over.

“If you cannot keep your sword sheathed, then I cannot risk letting you into the Grand Hall. The Montagues aren’t causing any trouble as far as I can see. And if there is trouble, they will be the ones causing it, not you. Do you understand?”

Tybalt looked long and hard at his uncle. He didn’t reply, but he realised the handle of his sword from where he had been holding it, and he stalked away from the party.

Tybalt returned to his room. It was quiet, and if he didn’t listen hard, he could almost pretend that there was not a party happening. And if there was no party, there were no Montagues that he desperately wanted to duel with. And now he was thinking about the Montagues again, and he was back to how much he wanted to fight them.

The door opened, but Tybalt wasn’t going to look round and see who it was.

“Do I not get any kind of welcome?” The voice asked.

Tybalt smiled, recognising the voice. But he stopped himself from turning to greet Mercutio, remembering why he was angry.

“You brought the Montagues.” he accused.

“Well how else was I going to explain why I was swanning off to the Capulet’s party.” Mercutio replied.

Tybalt just huffed. “If it wasn’t for my uncle, I would have challenged them to a duel.”

“I did think it was odd that you were hiding up here.” Mercutio mused.

“I’m still going to go after him.” Tybalt muttered, raising himself so he was sitting next to Mercutio on his bed.

“Don’t rough him up too much.”

Tybalt looked at him. “And you’re not worried about him hurting me.”

Mercutio just shrugged. Tybalt punched him playfully, knocking him over onto the bed.

“I just meant that you’re the better swordsman,” Mercutio said whilst laughing. “There’s not a chance Romeo could land a hit on you. Especially since he hasn’t fought in weeks. He’s been too occupied attempting to woo Rosaline.”

Tybalt laughed again. “Is he having any luck with her?”

“No,” Mercutio replied. “I don’t know whether to be happy, because she’s not right for him, or sad, because he is sad.” Tybalt huffed. “I hope you don’t mind I brought him along here. He needs to find a girl.”

Tybalt still wasn’t happy. “So long as he doesn’t go anywhere near my family.”

Mercutio just hummed an answer. Tybalt took that as an end to the conversation.

:::

The morning light broke through Tybalt’s window. Tybalt groaned and rolled over, cursing himself for not shutting the curtains.

“Wake up,” a voice shouted, and Tybalt had barely a second before one of his pillows came crashing down on him.

“Mercutio,” Tybalt groaned.

“I need to go, Tybalt.” Mercutio said, the note of humour gone from his voice.

“When will I see you again?” asked Tybalt, standing up so he was facing Mercutio. 

“My friends are getting suspicious. I’ll try and deflect them onto teasing Romeo.” Mercutio shrugged.

“Soon, then.” 

“Soon.” Mercutio echoed.

:::

Tybalt spent the morning wandering around the Capulet house. Without Mercutio there to calm him down, he didn’t trust himself to roam the streets, in case he ran into Romeo, or another Montague. He knew it wasn’t long until he snapped.

The whole house seemed subdued under a thick blanket. Tybalt caught sight of Lord Capulet several times, gripping his head and swaying along the corridors. Too much to drink, Tybalt presumed.

Juliet ran off to church, and Tybalt would have thought it odd that she had not stopped in to ask whether he wanted to go with her, but he didn’t have the energy to care. He also didn’t care that she had returned happier than he had ever seen her.

Tybalt watched the city, trying to find something to occupy himself. He could just see the rising shape of the Montague villa in the hazy summer light. The market in between the two houses was bustling, but the streets directly in front of each house were dead. Tybalt knew that running between those houses somewhere, was Mercutio and Romeo. They were somewhere in the rabbit warren of streets.

That was the thought that snapped Tybalt’s control. The servants scurried around Tybalt, heads bowed, as he got ready. They could sense the anger radiating off him. A few snapped words at the servants brought Tybalt his sword and a couple of his cousins as back up.

Tybalt strode through the streets, and the people of Verona scattered from them. Whispers curled around the Montagues, and Tybalt let himself revel in the mystery, playing up his part.

The street gradually widened out into the open courtyard in the centre of Verona. The people around the edge of the courtyard fell silent, slinking away back into the shadows.

The courtyard had very few people, but the air was thick and full with the posturing of the two rival houses. Tybalt strode nonchalantly towards the Montagues, enjoying the way their tense eyes followed his every move. Benvolio, cautious. Romeo, confused. Mercutio, with the glimmer in his eyes that only Tybalt would recognise. 

“Romeo!” Tybalt called, swaggering towards him, with a hand rested arrogantly on his sword handle. The younger boy raised his eyes to look at Tybalt, but did not reply.

“You have insulted my house.” Tybalt spat. “And I will make you pay for that insult.”

The men in the courtyard bristled, and Romeo’s eyes widened in panic and surprise. 

“I have no reason to hate you.” Romeo replied. “I will not fight you.”

Tybalt’s anger flared. “You villain. You will stand to defend your miserable house.”

Romeo’s eyes flickered around nervously, looking to his friends to help him. “I will not fight you.” he repeated. Tybalt drew his sword at Romeo’s words. If the boy was not going to fight back, it would just make him easier to beat him. Tybalt was not above fighting a man who refused to draw. It was not like Romeo was unarmed.

Just as Tybalt made to lunge at Romeo, Mercutio’s sword blocked the view. “He will not fight you,” Mercutio said. “But I will.” 

Tybalt swung his sword at Mercutio, confident that his lover could block the view. Tybalt held back a smile at Mercutio’s antics, and the friend of the Montagues swung his sword wildly at the Capulet. The anger Tybalt felt at being unable to teach Romeo a lesson soon disappeared as the duel between himself and Mercutio. 

The fight was similar to the conversations between the two men. Sharp biting words and swords thrusts, but no real wish to hurt the other, and never a winner. But Lady Fate had different ideas. 

Tybalt lunged at Mercutio, a straight hit that would be easy to divert. But Romeo ran into the fight, grabbing Mercutio in some mistaken attempt to end the fight and protect his friend. Tybalt could only watch, unable to change the course of his sword, and the tip buried itself in Mercutio’s chest. Mercutio’s sword was held at his sides, pinned by Romeo’s arms.

Tybalt couldn’t realise what had happened. His heart pounded loud in his ears, his arms hung dead by his side. His legs started forwards by themselves, his mind too frozen to think. He had to be by Mercutio’s side. But the arms of his friends pulled him back, dragging him into the streets of Verona. 

As clichéd as it was, the realisation of what he had done hit Tybalt as though he had just walked into a closed door. All plans for his future had just died with Mercutio, and that door had been firmly closed. Tybalt was in a dead end, his mind whirring, when an anguished cry echoed through the streets.

“Tybalt!”

The two men with Tybalt glanced at each other, and then at Tybalt. 

“Leave me.” Tybalt ordered.

“But cousin,” they protested.

“Leave,” Tybalt ordered again. He knew Romeo was coming for him.

The men shot each other looks, but did as Tybalt asked. 

Tybalt looked around the street. There was no where to run, and no point. The blade in his hand felt too heavy, the blood on the end was an accusation. Tybalt threw the offending weapon as far as he could.

“Tybalt!” Romeo roared again, as he cornered the street. “You killed him.”

“I know.” Tybalt replied quietly. His answer seemed to throw Romeo, but only for a second.

“Now you will die too.” Romeo ran towards Tybalts, his sword drawn to lunge in an almost exact replica of Tybalt earlier. The blade pierced Tybalt, and the pain that shot through him was worth it, to feel what he had caused to Mercutio.

“You wouldn’t know what it feels to love someone.” Romeo accused, giving his sword a vicious twist. “You don’t have a heart. I’m surprised you bleed.”

“How would you know?” Tybalt rasped. “How would you know how it feels to love someone, despite everything? To feel so complete?” 

Romeo turned to look at the dying Capulet. “Who could love you?”

Tybalt felt everything beginning to blur at the edge of his vision. The pain was coursing through his empty veins like poison, and the blood was pouring its way down his chest. He knew his life was ending.

“Mercutio.” he whispered. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and constructive criticism are appreciated!


End file.
